


Beads and Braids

by jeza_red



Series: 101 Verse [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: F/M, a fic it of a sort connected to my another fix-it that was 101 haircare, just from another point of view, mentioned Thorin and Bilbo, where women of the Durin's line have a little heart to heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 12:47:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2773514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeza_red/pseuds/jeza_red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I've watched the last movie... and I need to reinforce myself by writing 'IT NEVER HAPPENED' fics. This one can be read with no fear, there's no spoilers (well, there is a tiny one concerning Tauriel, but it's something of an an afterthought in the movie so I will leave it be). </p><p>Apart from that, they all lived like in 101, and hair is the mode of communication to all creatures across Middle Earth:)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beads and Braids

Her hair was heavy and she didn't like it all that much. She has never worn gems in her braids - she has never had this many braids, period. It was a warrior’s style she usually wore her mane in, practical, keeping her hair out of her eyes when she fought and making it manageable every night when she rested. She was no Sindar princess, there was no time to brush the red strands every evening when their home could be attacked at any moment and she would be called to fight.

Not today, though. Not today.

Hopefully, in the nearest future Captain Tauriel will not be required to fight with the darkness.

She’s seen enough death already, enough tragedy and blood in one day. The sounds of dying and wounded will stay with her forever, the sounds of the horns and clash of weapons will never leave her dreams.

And fear. Fear of disappearing, of being extinguished like all these poor people in Laketown, like the Dwarves on the slopes of Erebor, like her own people in Esgaroth…

Tauriel didn’t have her Second in Command anymore and her best archer has been cleaved in half by an Orc’s sword. Two trackers from under her command have been wounded beyond saving and she has seen their last moments.

But then, she didn’t have her command anymore. She wasn’t a Captain, couldn't even call herself a Mirkwood Elf… Her banishment was never lifted. The King she choose to raise her weapon against, she chose to speak against, could not forgive her that. And Tauriel never expected him to. Thranduil was a ruler of a realm, and for such as him, it was not an easy thing to go back on his word.

As for her… She wasn’t even sure if she wanted her position back. If she would be able to serve under a King she has found hard to respect. To live in the darkness and gloom, cut away from the stars and sky, crowding underground like a blind mole, scared of the world outside.

So how come this life, so similar to what she tried to escape from, seemed better to her?

“I see you’re brooding again, lass.” A low voice spoke behind her back and Tauriel turned away from the mirror to look at the dwarrowdam standing there. “Were it not for your height, you could make quite a decent Durin.”

Tauriel allowed a small smile to appear on her lips and bowed her head in respect. “Lady Dis.”

Lady Dis, the Queen under the Mountain, softly closed the door to the room and walked up to her. She was a striking Dwarrow, the Elf had to admit, so alike her brother that it still sometimes took her by surprise. The nose, the strong chin and these piercing blue eyes that seemed to see beyond skin and bone, to the soul hidden beneath. The only differences of their figures were easily hidden by thick brocades and furs. Sans one. Cascades of honey-colored hair falling down the Lady’s back like a river of gold, adorned with sapphires and silver, and braids more intricate than whatever Tauriel has thought is possible.

Only up close white strands on the Dwarrow’s temples and on the sides of her styled beard were visible, and the fact that her hands were slimmer than her brother’s.

These exact hands raised to touch Tauriel’s hair and the Elf kept still, unused to the easy way with which the Dwarves treated physical affection. The Elves were not so open with touches, with so many words, with feelings presented honestly for whole world to see.

But she was learning. Slowly, but steadily, she was learning to accept and even, secretly, reveal in this new way of life.

“Your hair is a bit thin, but it’s strong,” Lady Dis spoke to her, touching the braids and righting the beads. There was no bite in her tone, and Tauriel was grateful. It was a long way they’ve been through, her and the Queen, before one accepted the other for what she was. “I will talk to my son if you’d like me to, so he starts gifting you with more, eh, varied tokens.”

“It’s kind of you to propose, but I couldn’t.” Tauriel bowed again, it was a hard habit to break. “It causes him joy, so I will wear them. I cherish every thing he gives me in good heart.”

“He has a good heart,” Dis agreed easily. “But he also has Durin’s mule-headedness and will shower you with beads until your spine cracks like a twig,  if he’s not told to stop. Just look at his uncle and poor Mister Baggins.”

That made Tauriel laugh out loud and she was too slow to catch herself and steel her features. There was no need for that, not there, not with the image of that poor Hobbit dressed up in Erebor’s finery, with the weight of gems and fur pulling him to the ground, and yet still trying to keep a game face on. And why? Only because the Dwarf standing in front of him was smiling - and that, rare occurrence as it seemed to be, was a precious thing to him.

“Even me, lass,” Lady Dis continued with a smile, taking a place on the bench next to Tauriel. “When I’d been courting my One I showered him with copper beads and silver brooches, with all kinds of things that were useless to a hunter, that he couldn’t wear, because they’ve made noise as he walked… It took me years to realise it, it took my brother’s temper flaring to make me stop.”

Her hands were slimmer than Tauriel expected at first, not as square and not as short. That would be expected, she guessed, from a silversmith. Marks and scars marred the skin on them, a testament of a lifetime of work with metal and fire, something that every Elf would find strange and fascinating.

Like Kili’s hands, that were rough and crude, with short, angular fingers and nails that seemed like flat stones, dull and gray. And yet… And yet why were they a perfect fit for her slender hands? When their palms touched, it was as if his scars and her calluses slotted together and made the grip even stronger.   

“It took me years to understand that Vili was only humouring me.” Tauriel startled a bit when she realised that the Queen of Erebor started to rebraid one of her clumsy braids, but a warning look of these blue eyes told her to sit still. Lady Dis had a commanding presence, not so different from her brother’s. “Now, this one needs to be tighter if you want to keep it by the evening, lass. Goodness, this bead is heavy! I should smack my son over the head for not paying attention when Thorin taught him! Now, where was I… oh yes.” The Lady smiled and even if it wasn’t exactly a happy smile, it was a soft one. “I was so caught up in trying to impress him with what little I could scrounge up then. We were dirt poor, our people were hungry and I had nothing of worth to offer... no jewels or gold, I couldn’t even make him a proper furcoat.”

It seemed strange to Tauriel, this side of the Dwarves that dealt with wealth.

At first, well, at the very beginning, before she had even met one of them, she has thought it’s just greed. A plain emotion lesser peoples felt towards things they could not have - or could not have more of. A trait of the weakminded and uncouth, something that could not touch her race, for their wealth was in the world around them. In the trees and stars, in the air itself…

And then she saw that same, tainted emotion in her King’s eyes as he marched his army to rob and plunder, and her worldview crumbled.

And then, when she thought that nothing good can come out of gold and jewels, no matter how white and shining, she came to Erebor… and everything she thought she knew was turned on its head once more.

Beads in her hair were a proof of that, jewels at the hem of her dress and trinkets Dwarrows carried wherever they went. Only here, under the Mountain, she was able to see the warmth of gold and cool of silver, the soft glow of copper and brass. She could see how metals and stones were interwoven into every aspect of Dwarven lives, like trees were for the Elven kind.

Her Kili, a skilled metalworker no matter what his mother said, didn’t love silver for its cost, but for everything that he could make from it. His brother loved steel that molded itself in his hands into blades and decorations. The smiling miner, the one with dimples and ridiculous hair, seemed to love every stone under his feet and his cousin, albeit a bit unusual, couldn’t walk by any piece of wood that could be turned into a toy or a new pipe.

And how could that be a simple greed, then, when desire to create permeated the very air she breathed in now?

The only thing left mysterious to her were Dwarven courting rituals.

And Rituals they were, from the looks of it.

“I am not trying to bore you, my dear,” The Queen said calmly after the previous lament, “I was a silly girl, but that’s my thing. What I am trying to tell you is, that sometimes, when a Dwarf gets something into their head… they need to be told that it’s not the gifts that matter.”

At that Tauriel sighed, - a very undignified gesture, but she felt that it’s allowed. It was all so complicated!

“I would feel better if I knew what to do,” she revealed in a choked voice. Her throat was tight and her heart was pounding when she revealed her weakness, but it had to be done at some point. And the Queen smiled encouragingly at her, so maybe she was doing the right thing. “I would like to know what to say and how to act when he… Do I have to give him gifts too? My Lady, I am but a Silvan Elf, and he is your son, a prince and I…”

“You fear, that’s simply good reason.” Despite the words, Lady Dis seemed kinder than ever. “But you fear for the wrong reasons. What kind of an Elf you are matters little here when you are an Elf at all, lass.” One of these wide, strong hands touched her face and Tauriel didn't mind it all that much. It was a motherly gesture she didn’t know she had ever missed. “And that my son is a prince is not on his mind right now. Right now he is young and foolish, and happy that he is at all able to gift you things I couldn't even dream of in my youth.”

“Why?” She asked, lost and confused, allowing it to show on her face. “Gifts are nice, of course, but so many… Do all Dwarrows do it? Is it tradition? I don’t understand…”  

“Ah, this is not that complicated, dear.” The Queen stroked her cheek. “Gifts of our hands, fruits of our labour, every precious thing we possess… is never worth more than our Chosen Ones. My son will give you everything he owns only to show the esteem he holds you in. And the beads - it’s a tradition for the blood of Durin. You can’t read them, I am afraid you will never be able to,” her voice turned apologetic for a small moment. “Our language and writing is not something we share. But I can assure you, that any Dwarf that looks at your braids will know how my son feels for you.”

Tauriel could feel her cheeks heating up, her face turning red, even the tops of her ears stung! Oh how she wished to have her hair loose so she could hide behind it!  

Every Dwarf? Oh no. She was not ready for that! It was…

“There, done.” Lady Dis looked at her handiwork with a critical eye and, indeed, it was a masterful work! “It will have to do for now. I would recommend going to Dori, he is skilled in managing hard types of hair, if you get my meaning. I’ve never had time to truly learn more than the basics… and I have a feeling you could use some more elaborate work on your head.”

 _Since I don’t, and never will, have a beard,_ Tauriel thought with a spark of amusement that slowly replaced embarrassment. Lady Dis smiled, as if reading her thoughts, and patted her bare cheek once more with surprising fondness.

“I will not regret my son’s choice,” she said. “Even though you are an Elf, and many will not be very happy with it, I am glad that Kili has found his Sun in these dark times. Don’t fear, Tauriel, the Mountain will welcome you.”

Tauriel watched the Queen until the doors closed behind her, and she didn't dare to breathe until she was alone with the mirror and her own wet, glossy eyes.

There has been no love between them at first, between her and the mother who stormed the halls of Erebor like a wraith, searching for her children, for her brother. Who wept and raged at the loss of life this war has brought her folk. Who wept at her brother’s sickness and inability to stay within their ancestral home from fear of madness…

She has stood before this Dwarrowdam, this mother with eyes made of steel and teeth bared in anger, and it took all her courage not to run. It took Kili’s hand in hers, fitting perfectly, to convince her to stay with the people her former King fought against.

And it took seeing Bilbo Baggins, struggling and winning, fed up, but at the same time happy, to convince her that it’s worth a try. That there may be a place for her under the Mountain. It took courage and persistence to win the approval of the Queen of Erebor, but in the end Tauriel was surprised to discover that it was _all_ that was needed. Maybe she was becoming more Dwarfish than she has realised.  

She looked at her braids in the mirror (another luxury she had never had in her own home, that Kili made for her last Spring), and even if there were more than she was used to, they looked beautiful. If she looked close enough, each bead in her hair looked like a separate little world, shimmering like a night sky full of stars. There was beauty to everything that surrounded her.

 _Maybe there was something to it_ , she thought. Maybe there was nothing to fear. In the end how many heads were her beads going to turn, really, when there was a Hobbit walking the halls of Erebor in a mythril shirt?

Yes, taking into account that, she just may have a chance to slip by unnoticed.  

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
